


Perseverance

by Cott



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15790236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cott/pseuds/Cott
Summary: Five times Stephen Strange persevered and one time…





	Perseverance

Stephen Strange is a doctor.

 

He decided to become one after that day, that accursed day when he was unable to save a soul. Some would call his way of life ironic; bringing other people back from the brink of death after letting down the one he wished to help the most.

 

When he got the acceptance letter to medical school, the first thing he did was to visit his sister’s grave. Holding the letter, he poured out his emotions, his regrets, his _sorrow_ —and his vows. Was he a hypocrite for trying to alleviate his guilt like this? The silence of the graveyard settled upon his shoulder like the sky Atlas once held. Doubts plagued his mind as if they were deformed shadows of the Black Death.

 

But he persevered.

 

 

Stephen Strange is a shell.

 

He’d lost his hands and consequently, his purpose. In the back of his mind, he knew that partly, he was at fault. Pushing Christine away and spending his fortune trying one unsuccessful treatment after another—those were all his doings. By the time he heard about the miraculous recovery of a man paralysed from the waist down, he had nothing more to lose.

 

The journey to Kathamandu was icy wind against soft skin, brittle emotions gnawing at his insides. With only his watch and several meagre belongings, Stephen struggled along the streets of Nepal. The locals were kind enough to point him toward his destination, and he clumsily made his way to his one last hope, one last chance. Rough surfaces scratched his hand as if they were signalling the hardships that would come to pass.

 

But he persevered.

 

 

Stephen Strange is an apprentice.

 

His arrival at Kamar-Taj had been disastrous; getting thrown out by his only sliver of hope after months of pain was crushing. However, at the same time, it was eye-opening. The Ancient One had shown him something incomprehensible, something completely out of the bounds of the perceivable universe he had believed in before.

 

The first few weeks there was spent falling down countless times. Practice, practice, _practice_. Learning Sanskrit, delving into books, doing everything in his power to do as he was taught. Patience was essential, just like his studies for his degrees. Sometimes, however, frustration threatened to engulf him as disappointment rose up inside him like waves that overwhelm ships on far-away seas.

 

But he persevered.

 

 

Stephen Strange is a sorcerer.

 

He had just seen his mentor die, the killing blow dealt by her former student. Kaecillius’ spiel about death and Dormammu had shook him, but not so much so that his reserve would fall. He had thought about those words while he staggered to safety, to Metro-General, to the one person he knew that could help.

 

 _Christine_. His link to the past, his anchor to the present. Meeting her after all this time was unreal, but it happened. Seeing her reminded him of his past, of what could have been. He could have it all back. Just like Jonathan Pangborn, the man of miracles, he could once again become the most brilliant surgeon in his field. All it took was his decision. His choice. To turn away, to ignore, to forget.

 

But he persevered.

 

 

Stephen Strange is the Master of the New York Sanctum.

 

He had fought Dormammu and survived against all odds. The god beyond time had finally tired of the ever-returning human and agreed to his terms. Death upon death piled upon Stephen, weighing him down by phantom pains and aching memories etched into his very soul.

 

When he returned to Kamar-Taj, to move out and assume his place as the new Master of the New York Sanctum, whispers followed him like gum stuck on the sole of a shoe. _The defeater of the Dark Dimension. The man who became Master after only several months of training._ Bodiless voices surrounded him, urging him to flee, to disappear behind the veil his status provided.

 

But he persevered.

 

* * *

 

Stephen Strange is human.

 

The quiet pit-pattering of raindrops against ancient windows woke up his senses, honing them too sharp, too fragile. Invisible needles pecked at hands that trembled and cramped. Flashes of bright light, falling, panic swelled up behind his eyelids and Stephen sat up in his bed, shuttering breath coming in short gasps.

 

The Cloak of Levitation wrapped around him, its soothing presence calming Stephen, slowing down his erratic heartbeat. Wavering between the corporal plane and the astral plane, he kept his eyes open just in case his nightmares decided to invite themselves to his mind. It was all in the past, all gone by, but still, they left marks, scars that would never wash away.

 

Perseverance was a fickle thing to master. But he could try, just like he had for many things.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t abandoned my other fic—The Vow of Two. But I won’t have time to do proper research and write with accurate facts until I take my tests. This fic is a perspective on Stephen’s character that I always wanted to write, but couldn’t find the right timing to put up here.


End file.
